Reverberations
by pinksnowboots
Summary: A collection of music related UsUk drabbles. AU setting in which Arthur is a young composer and Alfred is his inspiration.    Although Arthur often wrote songs for his lover, Alfred had never realized that all of the songs were all about him.
1. Reverberations

Hello fellow USUK fans. I know this pairing is massively overdone, but I thought of a concept during band today and this pair seemed to fit. This will be a series of music related drabbles relating to an AU composer Arthur and his lover Alfred. I don't know if this conflicts with anything canon, but if it does, please inform me or just overlook it. I considered using Austria/Switz because Austria plays the piano, but decided it fits USUK better, in my opinion.

Warnings-None, I think. Implied sexual relations, I suppose?

Disclaimer-I do not own Hetalia or the massive amount of Hetalia fanfiction that is out there (except my own fics). If I had control over the fanfics, I would purge all couple that interfere with USUK, especially FrUk (boo!).

Italics are musical terms, which will be explained at the end of the chapter in case anybody needs the definition.

Please read, follow/favorite if you like (I'm planning on writing more), and review if you feel like it. All would make me very happy!

Enjoy!

* * *

Alfred had no idea that he was the single source of the British composer's inspiration.

Arthur could not play a single musical instrument. He could not sing, whistle, or even hum pleasantly. Yet he was one of the most famous emerging composers of his time. Only in his late 20s, the sandy haired, bushy browed Briton had already published a plethora of compositions, each one unique but still recognizable. Nobody knew how the man did it, especially not his largely oblivious American boyfriend.

Arthur himself barely knew how he was able to compose like he did. For all purposes, he should have been reduced to listening. But for some reason, Arthur implicitly _understood _music, and was able to envision it without ever being able to produce an audible result. No, Arthur could not vocalize his work, but he could write it for others. He could write a flawless symphony without ever hearing a piano play. He would simply write the notes for others to follow, and when they did, the result was always magical.

The people who wondered about this elusive genius of Arthur's did not know and therefore, did not take into account, two things.

First, Arthur saw music everywhere. He took in his life in terms of a treble clef. When he heard a birdsong, he would think _trill_. Any rhythmic thumping, whether it was footsteps or Alfred's nervous habit of tapping his fingers, would be immediately counted by the Brit's brain (_4/4 and 6/8, respectively_). Any pitch that reached his ears was translated into a note, however subconsciously. The man lived and breathed music, and when he started to write, the notes and rhythms were already there. Arthur was just beginning to learn how to utilize this unique talent which, he know realized, he had possessed all his life.

Second, Arthur had a singular and unquenchable source of inspiration: Alfred. The boy, who was now a man (how he had grown-_crescendo_) who had been the bane of Arthur's existence and his very reason for being all at once. They were only two years apart, but Arthur had been taking care of Alfred all his life. They had been inseparable as children. The American would come up with crazy ideas and the displaced Briton (who had moved to America at a very young age) would try to keep him from crashing down when he tried to fly like his much loved superheroes. Arthur had shielded and protected the boy and they were considered closer than brothers, even the same person (_unison_). But one day Alfred had rebelled; he wanted to be his own person, and to do so he had to push the person he loved most away. Their split (_divisi_) had hurt Arthur, but as they grew further apart (_dissonance_) they missed each other all the more. And eventually they rekindled their friendship in a fragile semblance of its past. Eventually they realized that they had such a complicated relationship was because they loved each other, as more than brothers can or should. And eventually, they discarded their old friendship and created something new, a partnership (_duet_).

And throughout their history, Arthur translated Alfred's actions into rhythms and captured them on paper in small black notes, a record of their lives together hidden in plain sight.

Although Arthur often composed songs for Alfred, his lover never realized that the song were, in fact, always about him.

The ideas were everywhere, from when Alfred laughed (_con slancio_) to the way that Arthur's breath caught when the American smiled at him, openly and lovingly, making his heart proverbially "skip a beat" (_syncopation_) to the feel of Alfred's usually clumsy hands gently stroking the Brit's face, his chest, his neck (_soave_).

The angst of their once unacknowledged desire struck minor chords, and the way that they kissed, pressed against a wall rang like the crash of cymbals for the British man. Alfred's constantly tapping feet provided the drumbeat and Arthur's racing heart rate the tempo. And the way they had finally confessed, with lips and tears and words and hands intertwined in a discordant cacophony had been the apex of improvisation.

Arthur was presented with new ideas every day as Alfred glided through Arthur's life in a flurry of love and music, and the Brit was carried along by every moment. He had always seen music and he had always loved Alfred, but when the two combined, his works became genius.

As Arthur buried his head in the sleeping American's chest and whispered "I love you" before falling asleep, he felt the words thrum though his lover's skin, leaving him with this latest flash of inspiration. The gentle vibrations shared by their bare skin as they lay together, sleeping contentedly.

_Reverberations._

_

* * *

_

This whole idea was inspired by a piece of music we were playing in band-Reverberations by Brian Balmages. Check it out, it's pretty cool.

/reverberations-brian-balmages/

Anyway, here are a list of musical terms and definitions, because some of them are more obscure than others.

Treble clef-Most common musical clef.

Trill-Rapid alternation between two notes.

4/4 and 6/8-Time signatures.

Crescendo-Increase in volume; grow.

Unison-Multiple people playing the same note.

Divisi-A choice for a player to play one of two different notes; a divided part.

Dissonance-Audibly "unstable" sound.

Duet-Piece of music written for two people.

Con Slancio-With enthusiasm.

Syncopation-Notes which are on the upbeat rather than the downbeat.

Soave-Gently, softly.

Minor Chords-Often sound darker and more plaintive than major chords (technical definition is on wikipedia, but to boring to post.)

Tempo-Speed.

Discordant-See dissonance.

Cacophony-Collection of various sounds which may sound unpleasant together.

Improvisation-Not prepared; made up on the go.

Reverberation-Sound remaining in a space after the source of the sound is gone (I think of it as continuing vibrations, kind of).

I'm sorry if I got anything wrong-I am taking some creative liberties with both music and Hetalia and I hope the result is not unpleasant (discordant-ha!) and that you enjoy it and review and inspire me to write more. I have another idea for a drabble actually based on the song Reverberations, but I had to get this little intro up first.


	2. Breathless

Another random drabble. Alfred is slightly less clueless this time, but his logic still leaves much to be desired. This chapter is kind of a different style than the first and a little more Alfred-centric, but I hope it is still enjoyable. I added another element-Alfred is a trumpet player. It fits with my headcanon, as it seems like a pretty exuberant instrument and I can see him playing patriotic songs obsessively.

I love the responses I've got for this. I got a wonderful anonymous review who gave me far more praise than I deserve, but I appreciate it anyway.

"This was amazing! Everything about it I loved! Being a grand lover of music myself, this story really caught my eye. It was extremely well written, and it was very finely crafted. In my book I would consider this a masterpiece. Keep up the lovely work; you are an exceptional writer. I look forward to see what you share with us next."

Thank you anonymous, you made my day. :)

Warnings-None, really. Shonen-ai relationship, but I don't think that really counts as a warning.

Disclaimer-See chapter 1.

Hope you enjoy-positive responses make me smile!

* * *

Though Arthur himself could not play an instrument, Alfred played the trumpet rather well. He had learned it in high school to earn his music credit and kept up the habit by playing patriotic songs. Coincidentally, many of Arthur's featured prominent trumpet parts or solos, which he would present to Alfred, not for editing, but simply to hear them played by the person they were inspired by (To Arthur, Alfred playing his music sounded much better than a trained professional). This was the only time that he listened to his music played before he published it. Alfred had always been his exception. And as dense as Alfred was, he did catch on that Arthur's fondness of trumpet solos had to do with him.

Alfred came to every performance of Arthur's music. Although he didn't understand music theory or why a certain note fit the way it did, he loved listening to Arthur's compositions because he could _feel_ Arthur in them. Alfred could always recognize his lover's pieces, even with his short memory. They simply sounded like Arthur, and when he listened to them, he saw thick eyebrows and shockingly green eyes, felt the soft pressure of the Brit's lips upon his own. When the orchestra began to play, Alfred, usually much too talkative, fell silent, enraptured (The intent way he leaned into the sounds, tapping his finger to the beat had inspired many of Arthur's later works). While Alfred always showered Arthur with praise and adoration, making the Briton blush and gruffly brush the compliments away, he had never managed to convey exactly how special the music made him feel. Alfred was not good with words, and instead tried to convey the special connection he felt with the compositions to Arthur with his passion and attention. But he could never vocalize exactly why he adored Arthur's work.

The first time Arthur had featured a trumpet solo, he had not told Alfred that he was including it in a piece. He had asked his boyfriend to play it for him "just for fun." Later, Alfred and Arthur had been sitting in the theater listening to Arthur's latest composition, Alfred gently tapping the beat on the palm of his lover's hand. When he heard the tune he had played in the privacy of their shared apartment, he stopped his tapping and his jaw inadvertently dropped. The American unconsciously tightened his grip on his partner's hand until the song ended, the last brassy note hanging in the air.

Later at their home, Arthur was buttoning up his nightshirt.

"Did you enjoy the concert, love?"

At the lack of an immediate answer, Arthur turned around, confused, only to be pinned against the wall by the taller man.

"Artie, you put in my trumpet solo." Alfred spoke gently, his nose almost touching the Brit's.

"It was not _your_ solo. It is mine, as I wrote it." Arthur replied gruffly, but his breath hitched at his lover's proximity.

The American only smiled, staring into Arthur's bright green eyes. "But you wrote it for me, didn't you?"

The Brit avoided Alfred eyes as he muttered. "Well, yes."

"Arthur."

The smaller man looked up, meeting Arthur's gaze.

Alfred spoke with a whispered tenderness that he reserved for Arthur. "Thank you."

And with that, he gently kissed the composer, who wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, deepening their kiss.

Alfred was always able to hold a kiss longer than Arthur. His years of trumpet playing had increased his lung capacity so he didn't need to breathe nearly as soon as his lover.

As usual, it was Arthur who gently broke the kiss when his lungs began to burn. Alfred whined slightly.

Arthur answered, his voice ragged. "I'm sorry love. I need to breathe. I can't last as long as you."

"I'll just have to breathe for you then."

Arthur smiled at his partner's sweet, but illogical sentiments as he pulled them into another kiss.


	3. Mornings

Hey guys. I haven't updated this in a while because although I have various ideas on how to connect music to their relationship, I have a hard time actually forming it into a coherent story. Plus, I had a cracky idea for a story about Canada being a matchmaker, which is turning out kind of badly, in my opinion. It bugs me, but whatever. Anyway, this is using the musical terms for tempo, which is the speed of the music. They're defined before each little section and I might do some more because these are only some of the slow ones.

Warnings are the usual.

* * *

Just as Arthur's life was surrounded by music, his pace was measured by a constantly fluctuating tempo. And the same person who invaded his mental music also played havoc with the tempo of his heartbeat.

~Lento: Very Slow~

Alfred was a very deep sleeper. On a typical night, when he fell asleep, he could stay asleep through almost anything until it was at least 8 AM on a workday, noon on weekends. But once in a while he woke up sometime in the twilight zone between midnight and daybreak. These times of night made him unusually contemplative and he could not go back to sleep until his mind decided it had wreaked enough havoc. These days happened randomly and tended to confuse Alfred, as he was not a thinker by nature, preferring to feel what he believed. And when his thoughts tried to invade his rest, it scared him. Ever since he had moved in with Arthur, he had an easier time chasing off his bouts of melancholy. He would look over at the sleeping man, focus on him rather than on anything that would run through his mind unbidden. Alfred would look, but not touch, as Arthur was a light sleeper and although he was willing to comfort his lover at any time of night, the American could not bring himself to disturb the others' sleep. So he restrained himself and instead bathed the Briton with a tender gaze, taking in every aspect of the man he loved. Alfred would start to worry about money and he would look at Arthur's hair, try to conjure words to describe the texture of the sandy strands on his calloused fingers. When he though about growing old, he would move to the Englishman's eyebrows, which, although softened in sleep, did not diminish at all, disproportionately prominent for his delicate features. Most people found the effect comical, but Alfred found it endearing. And when he began to fret about the people who frowned upon their relationship, preached damnation at the two in the streets, he looked at Arthur's closed eyes and tried to comprehend how such a soft thin layer of skin could hide the man's brilliantly green eyes which could dull with malice, but would shine like jade when he looked at Alfred. And so it went. Whenever Alfred was afraid or worried, he would try to capture the way he felt about Arthur in those slippery words. When he found them, he never wrote them down, sure that he could never weave word like Arthur did music. More often than not, they eluded him but the task kept him busy until his racing worries abated and he slipped into a deep slumber.

~Largo: Very Slow~

Arthur was a very light sleeper. He would wake if disturbed by any substantial light, noise, or touch, although he had gotten used to the warmth of another person sharing the bed with him and the casual contact of skin as both men slept. He grew so used to it that he would wake if the heat was suddenly gone. Alfred didn't know, but every time he woke in the wee hours of the morning and carefully withdrew, sitting up to observe the Brit, Arthur was awake, feeling his lover's gaze upon him. The first time this had happened, he had opened his eyes and questioned Alfred as to why he was awake. Alfred had been flighty and apologetic for waking the other, although Arthur told the silly boy that he didn't mind a bit. Alfred had tried to make unnecessary amends by unsuccessfully trying to pretend to sleep. Arthur saw right through it and had to successfully feign sleep before the younger man's breath finally evened out in slumber. So the next time, Arthur simply remained calm, resting as if asleep and savored the silent connection between the two and simply enjoyed being watched. Most people didn't look at Arthur except to marvel at his unusual eyebrows but Alfred always looked at him like his eyebrows were not only normal, but beautiful and the loving gaze had helped him get over his insecurities. And Arthur lay still and allowed himself to be observed until his keen senses felt Alfred return to sleep, when he would join him.

~Adagio: At Ease~

Arthur woke up at the break of dawn through his room's refined curtains, while Alfred would sleep until someone hit him over the head, if allowed. There were very few things that could wake the American once he was asleep. When a beam of soft sunlight made its way through the window, Arthur's eyelids would gently flutter open, as he sat up and stretched, arching his back like a cat and fixing his rumpled hair. He would then get out of bed and immediately brew a pot of tea and a pot of coffee for himself and Alfred, respectively. Arthur always ate a meticulously buttered scone for breakfast, and read the paper sitting in his favorite chair. Alfred would wake up groggily whenever he felt like it, usually in the early afternoon. He would instinctively hit his industrial strength alarm clock whether it actually rang or not, then literally tumble out of bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Eventually he would muster the willpower to open his eyes, shading them from the bright midday sunlight with one hand, then drag himself up and out of the bedroom, sometimes taking a sheet with him. The American stumbled to the kitchen table where his coffee was waiting and drank two cups before becoming coherent. Then he would get up in search of his lover and wish him good morning ("It's afternoon, you bloody prat!") with a kiss just to get the satisfaction of having made Arthur taste coffee, in some way at least. Then he would be scolded into dressing and preparing for the day. That is how most mornings at the Kirkland-Jones household progressed and they both accepted it eventually, although it had taken Arthur time to get used to the habits of the younger man who seems to have the sleep habits of a teenage. But when he got too fed up, he had his revenge. Arthur had a secret weapon which he used rarely, lest the effect wear off, to make Alfred wake up to share the actual morning with him. Very few things could make Alfred F. Jones wake up at all, let alone smiling. But a kiss from Arthur Kirkland was one of the few things that always could.


	4. Composition

First of all, let me apologize profusely for the slowness of any updates by me. It'll be like this until finals are over at school. Sorry. :/ But I do adore everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted on this story. You all are fantastic!

Anyway this requires a little explanation. Reverberations is actually a piece of music that I have played, which is actually what inspired me to start this series. It is by Brian Balmages, not Arthur Kirkland, and everything in this little drabble is based on it. I tried to incorporate how the music actually is, but it may not make a ton of sense. It's kinda abstract. Anyway, before you read this, I suggest listening to the song here

.com/watch?v=Ekh0T5mvGzI

And for other kindred band geeks, you might want to check out the sheet music here

.

The note at the last measure is what made me start thinking about this series, by the way.

Quick rundown of music terms.

Accelerando-Gradual speeding up of the music.

Crescendo-Increase in volume.

Dynamic-The volume of the piece.

Fortissimo-Loudest dynamic level.

Fermata-Note held longer than marked.

I do not own Hetalia, or this song. They belong to Himuraya and Balmages, respectively.

Hope you enjoy.

Well known fact: _Reverberations_ was Arthur Kirkland's most critically known piece.

Lesser known fact: It was entirely about his relationship with one Alfred F. Jones, bloody git.

Arthur had written it the day after he and Alfred had finally confessed their feelings. After Alfred left his apartment that afternoon (giving him a goodbye kiss), Arthur had run to his office and composed a piece which basically told the story of how they had met, and finally collided. It was a disconcerting piece, with some noises which made the listener uneasy and unsure about what they were hearing. Well, that was how Arthur had felt for the three years he had known Alfred, as an annoyance, then an acquaintance, then a friend, then his _best _friend, and now…a lover.

The actual composing didn't take much effort. Arthur simply wrote what he was thinking, reflecting on their shared history, and wrote it down in the language of notes and rhythms.

The song was meant to be played by a large orchestra, and the beat was passed like a baton from one section to the other. He envisioned a circular stage with the audience in the middle, becoming randomly assaulted by sound from all sides. Like he and Alfred, passing moments back and forth, carefully but precariously dancing around the sexual tension that was obviously there. Arthur used the notes to suspend his imaginary audience in an auditory manifestation of this tension, constantly kept off balance, constantly flustered. Flustered like he had been every time Alfred winked playfully, every time the blue eyed man's ridiculously named glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and had to be pushed back up by Arthur, every time the American used the inane pet names for the stuffy Brit, affection laced with mischief in his voice. Yes, Alfred had been constantly assaulting his senses since Arthur met him, keeping his chronically off balance with little shows of incidental charm.

The music was backed by a constant alternation of notes in the background, carried by the alto saxes, who passed it to the flutes, who handed it off to the drums. But it was always there, the quiet fluttering of notes in a rushed heartbeat as the rest of the orchestra layered on new pieces of sound, building a song-a relationship-from the foundation of mutual affection which was the underlying force in anything the two men did.

The notes were simple. But the pacing was brisk and it was hard not to get swept off your feet by the music. The notes were high, then they were low, in a dull monotone broken up by unusual syncopation, what should have been easy becoming challenging as Arthur's voice had hitched in his throat every time he tried to find the words to tell Alfred how he felt. But he had always failed, and the notes faltered, with only the fluttering heartbeat of the flutes pulling the song into the next section.

Then came the triplets, the sixteenth notes, which almost sounded alike but slightly off beat as the tension grew, between the two men, between the instruments, between the music and the audience. Shrill notes which could easily slip out of tune and set the whole song off, rapidly alternating in a challenging combination. Arthur found the offsetting, difficult patterns, then repeating them, drawing them together in an accelerando linked with a crescendo until the dynamic hit fortissimo and the fermata could no longer be held. The frustration was palpable. And in the parallel story, Arthur was on the edge of giving up on the seemingly oblivious American. He tried to avoid him to avoid the pain of unrequited love, he held his breath around the other man until one day, the American made it very clear that it was not at all unrequited.

And as the fermata held and they released their built up tension physically and verbally, recounting all the ways they knew they loved each other but could never say, the fermata held in a slightly discordant, forceful wave of sound.

And then they slept. For the first time, they slept in the same bed, limbs entangled and hair unruly. And they woke up to find that it had indeed been real. And the music paused. The conductor held his breath for a moment of realization.

And then Alfred smiled his brilliant smile and kissed Arthur good morning, assuring it that it had indeed been real. The last note plays, the nervousness dissipates, and all that's left is unexplainable satisfaction and pleasure.

As Arthur added the final note, the end of their game of denial, he added an unconventional note to the musicians.

At the end of the last measure, the musicians were clearly instructed that when they were finished playing they should have

"No breath."


	5. Sensual

Hello, my lovelies. I know I have been fairly inactive for a while because of school and such, but it's marching band season and I had to write some more music porn. It's not actually porn, hence the rating remaining at T, but there is some extremely obvious use of music as a metaphor for sex. I hope that doesn't offend anyone. I was just thinking about how music, when it's played well, has a way of getting inside your body. You can feel the drumbeats and the melody and such. And so this came about. It is a little different than most fanfiction, as it is more about music than the characters and it's kind of an experimental thing. I hope you enjoy it.

Warnings: There really is nothing explicit, just some musical innuendo and the use of music as a metaphor for sex.

Disclaimer: Same as always.

Thanks so much for reading, and if you enjoy it, please please please review so I know better what to write in the future. I adore everyone who has reviewed this story with wonderfully fantastic comments.

Enjoy!

* * *

Sometimes, Alfred would regale Arthur with funny stories about his experience in high school band. He often mentioned how all the teenagers (including him) made millions of jokes about how much musical terms sound like sexual innuendo. They would snicker whenever the clarinets were instructed to "push in" or "pull out." Fingering, tonguing, and blowing were perfectly innocent pieces of terminology which often became the basis of many an immature joke. Eventually, the novelty of mocking these terms wore off due to their common usage, but when Arthur heard about the association of music with sex, he began to ponder upon the concept, as a composer rather than as a high school boy.

The two concepts were clearly relatable. Music was not erotic, typically, but it could be extremely sensual. After all, what is music based on? Vibrations, the type which thrum through one's body starting at the mouth and making their way down to the chest to be joined by the vibrations of the dozens of other individual wavelengths which combined, create a beautiful pressure which resonates in the eardrums and chest cavities of all those listening. Music is vibrations singing together in unison, or in harmony. And what more was sex than two people trying to do the same, using their bodies as instruments?

Critics often noted that Arthur Kirkland's music had a way of engaging your body, not just your ears, as you listened. The drums beat along with your heart, and the violins drew their bows directly across your vocal cords. The flutes fluttered along your fingertips while the brass resonated deep within your belly. They attributed this to his prowess as a composer, a rare and eccentric prodigy. Really, it was much simpler than that. The music he wrote always found its way into the body because the human body always found its way into his music. And what else could you expect from a man whose inspiration was his longtime partner and lover? Every look, touch, and expression of Alfred Jones was carefully encoded into notes on a score, and distributed out to orchestras around the globe. Individually, the parts were beautiful, but shallow, but when played with a full symphony, everybody within earshot became possessed by the story of two men (yes, two _men_) who were in love, and also happened to be lovers. And while the audience couldn't read the message in the music, never realized that this was the story of Alfred Jones and Arthur Kirkland, they could feel the raw emotions-the love, the lust, the desire, the affection, the attraction, the excitement, and a plethora of other feelings which permeated the sound.

Arthur's songs were about love and all the emotions that came with it. But they were also about sex. The physical act of expressing love. Not as something dirty, to be mocked by teenage boys in the band room, but as something natural, and even beautiful.

His songs had a way of teasing you, blessing your ears with light touches from the woodwinds, thrilling trills in the upper register of possible. Then you noticed that beneath the auditory caresses, the percussion was pounding a heartbeat in accelerando, racing from exhilaration. And as you realized that, you suddenly became aware that the low brass was building deep within your chest, rich baritones ringing and swelling, coaxing your emotions to the brim. The piano scattered gentle touches along your spine, insistently playing with your senses in ways that were decidedly intimate. And then the strings would join in, drawing their smooth bowstrings across your already taught nerves, making them sing with emotion and _want_, for buildup, for release, or for something you couldn't quite fathom. The trumpets vocalized their triumph, crowing smugly and proudly over the blatant seduction of the senses which was occurring right under your ears.

By this time, you were hooked. It was only the beginning, only the rising of the wave, but you were glued to your seat. The allure of the melody swept through like a wave. The audience saw it coming towards them, saw that they were in its path, and then pointedly remained where they were.

Then the parts began to intertwine. The flutes would call a question to the French horns in lilting, flirtatious tones; and the horns would echo their theme, agreeing in darker, warmer voices that this was indeed what they desired. The trombones slid their deft fingers up and down the scale in time with the violins and violas, voices blending as they worked in time. And the tubas subtly slid underneath, laying your ears on silk sheets which you never noticed were there. As the drums beat a syncopated tattoo on the texture of the song, the clarinets coyly slid in a quick exclamation of pleasure. The oboes shrieked melodically, drawing a sharp breath every few seconds when they became overwhelmed by the sensations. For a moment there was a call and answer. Across the orchestra, the sections would exchange secret glances and touches, too fast for the eye or ear to follow, hundreds of individual auditory love stories building and building simultaneously and becoming entangled, faster and faster until they could bear it no more.

And then there was a silence.

The instruments and the audience held their breath so as not to disturb the expectant void.

Beat.

Rest.

Beat.

And then with one swift movement, the cymbals collided with a tremendous CRASH, breaking the dam and letting the sound roll out in a flood of raucous release.

The trumpets wailed, the flutes squealed, the drums played furiously as if preparing for war. The tubas swelled, the clarinets screamed, and even the bassoon furiously added in its haunting cry. The war cries of a thousand instruments convalesced in a synchronized cacophony.

And then it was over. The climax roared, then fell. The wave broke and began to recede. As the instruments began to settle into each other, joining in a unison decrescendo, they sustained a sated fermata.

The sound faded, and the audience returned to their seats, retaking possession of their eyes and their hands, the four senses they had earlier left behind as their hearing became absorbed by the aural fornication. They did not realize what had happened. They did not feel sexual, or aroused, or anything of the sort. There was no way to categorize their emotions. They felt the music, and the music wrapped itself around each one of them possessively, marking them with invisible ink, an intimate and invisible sign of possession. They would ever after compare every song they heard to this one, this force of nature (for it was too much to really be contained in the label of a song), and it would unconsciously become a part of them.

Arthur Kirkland's music had a way of grabbing onto people and never letting go, and no one was left untouched, especially Arthur and Alfred themselves. Whenever they made love, they did so to the crash of cymbals and the wail of trombones ringing in their ears as they mirrored the emotions of the symphony in their own private concert.

Needless to say, Arthur Kirkland was a fantastic lover.


	6. Energy and Volume

Ok, so I just had to update this story. Marching season is coming to a close, and with competitions and all that jazz, I've had band on my mind. I've started a series of drabbles which should be very similar to this one, except it's for the RoyEd pairing for Fullmetal Alchemist. It's called Dynamics, and if you like Reverberations and also like the FMA fandom, check it out. If not, please ignore this shameless self-advertisement. It hasn't gotten nearly as good a response as this fic has, and personally I don't think that my one drabble which is up is as good as the ones in this fic, but I'm hoping to continue it, because I am a band geek, and these ideas keep coming.

Anyway, the idea for this one came from my band teacher, who keeps telling us that there is a distinct difference between energy and volume. Somehow I imagined Roderich saying this as a director and this happened. This one introduces some other nations as minor characters in this collection, and kind of hints at some pairings, although they are slightly ambiguous. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one.

Rating: T-Cursing and implied sex

Disclaimer: Please consider this disclaimed

Shameless plea: If you read this and enjoy it, please please review. I adore reviews, even just small notes saying that you enjoyed this chapter. And if you have any questions about the music terms or anything else, feel free to ask. AN over. Enjoy!

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Arthur didn't normally direct the orchestra which debuted his compositions, but when they first received a new piece, he would sit in on rehearsals and assist the director in establishing how it was to be played. In theory, he would only do this for the first few times the orchestra was playing a new song, but in practice, he ended up sitting in on almost every rehearsal. He claimed it was because of his dedication to his music, and had nothing to do with the first chair trumpet player who he just happened to stare at a bit more than would be normal. Nothing at all, not even when said trumpet player caught him looking and gave him a subtle but cheeky wink which would always cause a blush to creep onto the Brit's cheeks.

As Arthur had become a regular fixture at these rehearsals, he knew the mannerisms of the director quite well. He was a rather uptight Austrian who had come from Vienna to direct famous composer Arthur Kirkland's favorite orchestra. Arthur and Roderich, the director, got along quite well most of the time. Both took music very seriously and believed in a certain level of respectable and gentlemanly conduct. However, both were stubborn, and when they disagreed on stylistic points of a certain piece, the resulting conflict was always an amusing and slightly frightening spectacle for the orchestra. Alfred was not a fan of Roderich. Roderich was much too uptight for his taste, and he always contended that although Arthur was "a stuffy old British man," he had a definite playful side and a sense of humor. Roderich, on the other hand, seemed to only have two attitudes: professional focus and unbridled rage. The former dominated most of his time, but a certain few people-Arthur, an obnoxious but talented German (although he insisted on being called Prussian) percussionist, and a short tempered Swiss violinist who was rumored to be a former and potentially current lover of the Austrian-could make him fly into a passionate rage. Roderich's rampages were rare, but infamous among the orchestra. However, he was more likely to be conducting with a fierce focus and determination. Although he tended to be relatively calm, he could be very animated when it came to directing and conducting. If a section was not playing a piece to his standards, he would demonstrate the piece flawlessly on his everpresent piano, give them a lecture on music theory worthy of a college course, or give well meaning but annoying words of inspiration or encouragement.

One of Roderich's favorite refrains was, "There is a _difference_ between energy and volume!" Volume was simply volume-pianissimo to fortissimo. Energy was how engaged the musician was in the music, and could be heard through articulation, dynamic contrast, phrase shaping. Roderich constantly harped on this concept, especially to Gilbert-the "Prussian" was a talented drummer, but his energy was often accompanied by deafening volume. The difference between energy and volume became a running joke among the orchestra, especially among Gilbert and Alfred, who were often the recipients of such advice. In conversation, they would often inject the phrase at a particularly lively moment, then laugh until Roderich or Elizaveta, a sharp-tempered and violent bassoon player who had a personal grudge against Gilbert, gave them a withering glare.

The importance of the difference between energy and volume became a running joke between Arthur and Alfred as well. Sometimes when Alfred was enthusiastically reciting some story at a forte bordering on fortissimo, Arthur would jokingly admonish, "Alfred, you git, there is a difference between energy and volume, something which you would do well to figure out." Alfred usually would smile sheepishly and take his voice down a dynamic level. Other times, Alfred would invoke this rule when Arthur was half-heartedly, but loudly, lecturing him on some sort of mistake that he made. Arthur would splutter and eventually reluctantly let Alfred off the hook, just as he always did. Once, Alfred even brought the saying into their bedroom on a night where Arthur was particularly vocal. In between kisses and touches, he playfully whispered to Arthur, "Remember, dear, there is a difference between energy and volume." Arthur looked vaguely put out as he huskily retorted, "Love, I'm giving you energy, so shut up about the bloody volume!" Alfred readily obeyed. It simply became one of their silly little inside jokes which made them smile despite its insignificance. However, there was a downside. After that incident, whenever Roderich admonished Gilbert with his favorite saying, Arthur couldn't avoid blushing at Alfred's lecherous smile and laughing eyes. He could never quite take Roderich seriously again.


	7. Sentences

__Well, I was wanting to get some kind of writing done, so I figured I'd try the one sentence thing, based on a few musical terms which are defined before each sentence. I find writing one sentence much, much harder than writing a paragraph or a page, so if this is sub-par, I apologize. It is just an experiment in writing style that I wanted to try, and I would love feedback (hint: that means reviews!). So I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think and if you would be interested in any more of this style or if I should just stick to the formats of earlier chapters.

I have one more question which is just a way to con you into reviewing. Kidding, I actually would like to know. Would you like to see side-stories about some of the other characters in this ficverse (conducter Roderich, bassoon player Elizaveta, etc) or would stories like that belong on a different story altogether? If you would like to see that, please let me know. I have some ideas for little side-drabbles for SwisAus and PruHun and potentially other pairings that I like. So just let me know.

Ok, AN done. My grammar is deteriorating because it's past midnight. Enjoy!

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_A cappella-one or more vocalists performing without accompaniment._

Arthur would never admit that the cheerful tenor of Alfred's voice alone could create a symphony in his head.

_Accelerando - A symbol used in musical notation indicating to gradually quicken tempo._

Their hips moved together, pushing the tempo faster and faster to the climax of the piece.

_Adagio - A tempo having slow movement; restful at ease._

It never ceased to amaze Arthur how someone so energetic could look so serene in the wee hours of the morning.

_Allegro - A direction to play lively and fast._

Alfred had always bounded through life without much planning or many regrets, but once he met Arthur he learned how to bring someone else along for the ride.

_Atonal - Music that is written and performed without regard to any specific key. _

Alfred's laugh was one of the few things that Arthur was never able to fit into a specific musical key.

_Beat - The unit of musical rhythm._

Although Arthur knew that listening to a lover's heartbeat was such a cliché, he couldn't help falling asleep counting Alfred's pulse in 4/4 time.

_Capriccio - A quick, improvisational, spirited piece of music._

Although Arthur was a musical genius, his dancing skills left much to be desired; though he could enthusiastically transcribe any music onto a staff, Alfred had to teach him how to move his hips to the beat.

_Carol - A song or hymn celebrating Christmas._

Alfred was one of the cheesiest people he had ever met, but when faced with mistletoe and Christmas music in their shared apartment, Arthur let himself become sentimental as well.

_Chamber music - Written for 2 to 10 solo parts featuring one instrument to a part. Each part bears the same importance._

Arthur always had trouble writing chamber music because he always tended to favor the trumpet solos.

_Chord - 3 or 4 notes played simultaneously in harmony._

How the bloody hell their personalities fit together without creating dissonance was a welcome mystery.

_Chromatic scale - Includes all twelve notes of an octave._

After living together for more than two years, Alfred could map out every scar and indentation of Arthur's body.

_Coda - Closing section of a movement._

Their days always ended with gentle whispers of goodnight and even gentler confessions of love.


	8. Lessons in Listening

Hello delightful readers. I'm back in the world of Hetalia, and it definitely feels good. Recently I've been on a Bleach kick, and am working on some fics in that fandom, but sadly, that fandom is not as wonderful and responsive as this one (Shameless: If you watch/read Bleach, you should check out my Bleach fics...). I recently posted a note on some of my stories to see which ones have the most interest, and Matchmaker Canada was the unanimous winner. I was surprised, because it's honestly one of my least favorite fics because I don't think it's as good as it could be. Anyway, if you follow that one, I will be working on a new chapter, which will probably be GiriPan, but first I will be writing this and random Bleach stuff, because that is what's in my head at the moment.

Reverberations is probably my favorite of my fics, and I love it when I get ideas for it. This one was inspired by the midnight service at my church. I closed my eyes and listened to the music, and it really seemed like it was speaking in a whole new language that you miss with your eyes open, and I just went off that. I hope you like it, and as always, tell me how I'm doing with reviews!

Rating: T, for one curse word and two implications of sex

Pairing: I really hope you know what the pairing is by now

Disclaimer: See pairing, but insert the word disclaimer

Sorry for the moderately long AN-it's a habit of mine that you'll have to put up with-and please enjoy the story!

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If a picture is worth a thousand words, then a really good song must be worth at least a million. At least that's what Arthur thought.

He'd always found that he'd been able to express himself better through composition than through writing or speaking. When he got emotional, he found it hard to put his feelings into words because it made him feel so open, so damn vulnerable. If you said exactly what you felt, there was no going back, no playing things off. With his music, it was a thinly veiled code, and however thin the veil, it made Arthur much more confident about expressing his emotions. Sure, his songs didn't spell out words, but the mood of the piece made it obvious what kind of basic emotion the composer was experiencing, while the more refined ear could detect subtleties-conflicting emotions, internal battles, self-doubt. Arthur's closest female friend Elizaveta could always keep tabs on his relationship with Alfred just by listening to his compositions (she also claimed she could tell whenever they had particularly great sex, but Arthur refused to acknowledge that "skill"). Even Alfred, one of the most oblivious people he had ever met, was able to detect some of Arthur's moods from his songs.

However, it had taken him a while to develop even the most rudimentary understanding of reading the atmosphere of the sounds. This was one of the primary reasons why they had danced around each other for so long before actually starting a relationship. Arthur was extremely insecure about everything but his music, while Alfred was overconfident about everything except his feelings. While Arthur was typically extremely perceptive, he tended to have a blind spot when it came to Alfred, who didn't seem to grasp the concept of subtlety. Arthur's songs grew more and more raw and overtly emotional, so much that the orchestra and the audience both _felt _it more than heard it. Only Alfred remained deaf, perhaps selectively so. Arthur's love letters, stories of seemingly unrequited love, calls of want, of need, called out to a person whose only reaction was to give unoriginal but sincere compliments.

Once they passed the initial stage of their relationship and became comfortable with each other, Arthur started to teach Alfred how to read music. Arthur was completely fluent in this strange language, while the only notes Alfred could read were ones pinned down on the staff. So Arthur taught him how to let the mere sounds drift away until he could hear the undertones, the countermelodies, the cadence. At first the lessons were purely musical, but eventually he began to show Alfred how the elements revealed a type of conversation. The sections and themes sometimes fought fiercely, throwing dissonance around as the drums beat out a war cry, while sometimes they called questions and answers, giving parts of a sentence which were strung together into a patchwork confession. When Arthur first said things like that, Alfred just concentrated on the way his face lit up when he talked music, because the actual words didn't register. But through rigorous and unconventional training, he began to haltingly become privy to the secret lives of the orchestra's sound waves.

On nights when they were both free, they would go to one of their apartments, or eventually, the one that they shared, and Arthur would make Alfred sit down on the floor. He'd close his eyes with butterfly kisses or gentle fingertips, then put on a recording of one of his songs. Alfred's job was only to listen, to feel, and sometimes Arthur helped open his ears with small guiding touches or words barely more than breaths. People say that you hear better when you can't see, and Alfred found that when he closed his eyes, he could still see his lover within the rhythms and he could hear all manner of things that he couldn't see. When the song was over, Arthur made sure he kept his eyes closed for a minute to let the music conclude, last notes ringing in the silence like an auditory afterimage. Then he would ask simple questions, silly little questions- What did you hear, How did that make you feel, What did it remind you of? And sometimes the questions would be serious inquiries slipped within all the open ended queries-Can you hear me? Can you see me? Are we in tune, are we even on the same frequency? And eventually, when Alfred's answers were close enough to satisfactory or at least insightful, Arthur would point out the things he heard when he wrote it, and the things that it was about.

"This was written when I saw you around that girl who I thought was more than a friend. Can you hear the turmoil and jealousy and frustration, because you weren't actually mine to be jealous of?"

"You said this one sounded like anticipation-I wrote it right before confessing to you."

"This song just ran through my head until I finally wrote it down…it started the morning after you spent the night at my house for the first time."

And sometimes, (Arthur loved these times) Alfred would find something that Arthur wasn't even aware of, a little musical tic which was so innate that it didn't even register. Like the little trick with the strings which mimicked the sound Arthur made whenever they kissed, or little variations on Alfred's favorite song. When Alfred pointed things like this out, it made Arthur blush, but it also made him irrationally happy to know that they were on the same wavelength, so much that things like tiny homages in his music could be given unconsciously, and noticed easily. It became their version of love letters tied with red ribbons in fading envelopes-instead they had recordings of trills, and bits of drafted sheet music. It was their way of passing little messages secretly in plain sight, right in front of the ears of the orchestra, the audience, God, and anyone else who happened to be listening. Anybody else who heard it may hear the emotion, the musicality, the style, but Arthur and Alfred could hear the undertones of whispered _I love you_s ringing clear as day.


End file.
